


Seven Years

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: Mirrors (2008)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication Failure, Continuation, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mirror Universe, Separations, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first year was the hardest.  Ben wandered the city, hardly understanding anything he saw, anything he read.  Though he knew himself capable, had made a game of it with Daisy one long ago day, his mind refused to process the backwards letters.  Any hope of news, any hope of understanding, was lost to the jumble the world had become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/gifts).



**_Year 1_ **

The first year was the hardest. Ben wandered the city, hardly understanding anything he saw, anything he read. Though he knew himself capable, had made a game of it with Daisy one long ago day, his mind refused to process the backwards letters. Any hope of news, any hope of understanding, was lost to the jumble the world had become.

Ben stayed near the Mayflower that year, convinced that the way back home was tied to those shattered mirrors, worried that if he wandered too far he would miss his chance. He camped out in the trailer, watched Lorenzo's daytime soaps, looked over his shoulder when he walked the museum. He was lucky that year -- discovered that if he placed himself just right, learned to mirror Lorenzo's actions just so… he could eat what Lorenzo ate. The tastes were backwards -- sour was sweet and sweet was sour, salty was bitter and bitter was salty. It was revolting to him the first time he managed, but eating bad food was still better than starving. He had to stay alive, stay as healthy as possible, so that when the time came… he could get back.

They replaced Ben on the night watch -- that was only to be expected. His replacement was a woman, Danielle Quinn, and Ben spent the entire day screaming himself hoarse at Lorenzo through the mirror the day they hired her. Who would hire a woman to patrol an abandoned department store in New York City at night?

…that was before he saw her in action. Her second night on the job, two teenage boys broke into the Mayflower on a dare from their friends. She handled them better than Ben expected. She didn't even startle, didn't hesitate, just calmly took them down and then put them out with an admonishment not to return. As the two took off running, hands to their backsides where she'd smacked them each with her baton, Ben had followed her into the trailer, unable to hold in his laughter. She'd paused on her way past the mirror, cocked her head, frowned, then turned to look back outside. Seeing no one there, she shrugged, then returned to her perch at the desk, and pulled out an incident report to record what had happened. Ben simply stared.

"You… you _heard_ me?"

* * *

**_Year 2_ **

The second year was easier. Ben still followed Lorenzo and Danielle on their rounds, noted with interest the beginnings of a plan to clean out and renovate the building, put it to some use. Surely if they restored the Mayflower to its former glory, that would mean restoring the mirrors. And if they restored the mirrors, then _surely_ that would mean that Ben could find a way home.

Ben forced himself to acclimate to the backward lettering. He still had to hold things up to the mirror when his eyes tired of the strain, but it tired him less and less as the months went on. His need to understand the renovation plans, to affect what he could to give himself the best chance to get home, overwhelmed his exhaustion, the headaches he developed from the strain on his eyes. Ben was a man possessed and he acted it.

Three months into year two, Ben saw the plans to take down the mirror frames, to replace them with newer, sleeker models… models which didn't hold so many memories of death. Panicked, Ben reached out, tore them from the foreman's hand-- and then watched, fascinated, as the foreman scrambled to keep a grip on them.

It could have meant nothing. There was a breeze, an updraft, another worker Ben hadn't seen who knocked into him… Or it could have meant everything. He practiced for months, trying to duplicate the effect. And slowly, but surely... he succeeded. It was only little things at first -- moving a coffee cup, knocking a pencil to the floor, touching someone's shoulder. The first time Lorenzo startled at his touch, Ben felt a surge of triumph, just for a moment… before it was swallowed by a stronger surge of nausea.

If Ben could manipulate things, touch people, in the real world… how long would it be before he could hurt them? How long would it be before he would want to? How long would it be before he turned into a monster just as crazed and bloodthirsty as the one that had killed his sister?

Ben stopped trying after that, shut down. He watched silently as they removed the clutter and debris from inside the Mayflower, watched more solemnly still as they removed the frames of the great mirrors. There would be no return now… not for him.

* * *

**_Year 3_ **

The third year, Ben moved out of the trailer, left the Mayflower behind. Watching them remove piece after piece after piece of his hard-won hope had left him exhausted, unable to move, almost unwilling to even try to eat. So, he left. He took up residence in Penn Station for a while, took advantage of the foot traffic and the numerous eateries to keep his strength up. He went more unnoticed there, even when the pressure became too much and he lashed out, jostling someone on their stool or kicking over someone's bag. He startled when the homeless regulars and the buskers started murmuring in their quiet voices about the place being haunted, reined himself back in, wary of causing more grief where none was deserved.

When he left Penn Station, he wandered. He stayed some nights in the Waldorf, some in the Museum of Natural History, others in the poor tenements of Alphabet City. He let his location follow his mood, tried to ride the waves of despair, tried desperately to think of some purpose, some way to keep himself busy -- to keep from going mad.

It wasn't until the eleventh month of that third year that Ben found an answer. He'd exhausted all the most popular tourist attractions in Midtown, started exploring farther afield. On a whim, one day, he'd ridden the 3 line around the city -- uptown, downtown, back and forth, all day. Why not? He'd nothing better to do. It was at the northernmost terminus -- 148th and 7th (Ben had long since memorized the subway maps) -- that it happened.

Ben saw Gary Lewis.

And Gary Lewis saw Ben.

…but Gary was dead.

…wasn't he?

* * *

**_Year 4_ **

Ben had returned to the 148th street station often after seeing Gary, but he never saw him again. He was gone… like a ghost. So, Ben never got any answers from Gary… except the seed of one he didn't want.

_~It left me and entered the mirrors. Since that day, it has been collecting the souls of the people it kills.~_

…the people it kills.

It made a terrible sort of sense, really, Ben thought. The last thing he remembered before crawling up the stairs into the sunlit deception of this mirror-world was the ceiling collapsing and pushing him under the water by the stairwell. Had he been the mirror-demon's last victim?

…was he dead?

No. No, Ben would not accept that, would not believe it. Just because the demon had trapped murdered souls here in the past didn't mean that every soul trapped here belonged to one who was dead. He might still be alive, might still be able to find a way home…

…home.

_Angie._

If… if the souls of all the demons victims were still here, still trapped in the mirror world, might then Angie be among them? Maybe she was here, somewhere -- in her old apartment, perhaps, or the bar -- waiting for him to find her? Maybe she'd been waiting all along.

…maybe, if he found her, Ben could somehow trade his life for hers. Maybe, instead of _Ben_ returning home… Angie could go in his place.

* * *

**_Year 5_ **

Just as with Gary, though, it proved just as difficult to pin down Angie. It took Ben the better part of his fifth year to find her, another month still before he could convince himself to approach her. It was his fault that she'd died. Had he not taken that job, had he figured out the case sooner… had he simply gotten rid of all their fucking mirrors, she wouldn't have died.

When Ben finally approached Angie, she was at the bar where she'd worked in Queens, pouring drinks through the mirror, passing them to customers who were always careful to sit reflected in the mirror to another next to them as they drank… like Ben did. And when she spotted Ben in the doorway, a broad smile lit her face and she leapt over the bar and went crashing into his arms, doing her best to hug him breathless. Letting out a cry that was mingled pain and joy, Ben clutched her to him just as tightly.

When they finally separated, Angie laughed with pure joy and said, "!uoy ees ot doog os s'ti ,neB"

"What?" They stared at each other then, eyes squinting then widening, as they tried to puzzle out what had gone wrong. As tears filled his eyes, Ben choked out, "Angie… what's happening to me?"

Angie reached out, pulled Ben close once more. Her hand was tight in his hair, her other clenched in the fabric of his shirt. Her face curled into the crook of his neck and she let out a soft sob, whispered, ".gniyas er'uoy drow a dnatsrednu t'nac I …neB ,esaelP ?uoy dnatsrednu I t'nac yhW .gnol os detiaw ev'I .raif t'nsi siht …oN" And though Ben couldn't decipher the words, he had ways of understanding. This was Angie -- his sister, in some ways she'd been like a daughter, and his heart understood her even if his ears didn't. His heart felt the same pain hers did.

They clung to each other for minutes, maybe for hours; Ben didn't know or care. He spent the time cataloging all the things that were different. She'd had a beauty mark on the left side of her neck. It was on the right now. The part of her hair had always been on the left. It, too, was on the right. And on, and on, and on. Just as everyone else he'd come across here, Angie was a mirror image of herself. When they were finally able to let each other go, they moved back to the bar and Angie poured them drinks. Both were careful to match those beside them as they drank.

It was the first drink Ben had had in five years… and it tasted like mustard. Ben choked it down anyway.

They didn't speak after that -- speaking was too painful, especially after Ben had spent some time watching the other patrons and how easily Angie conversed with them. After two hours of watching her, of seeing her sad glances his way as she poured him drink after drink after drink -- he didn't even care what, they all tasted just as awful -- Ben had to do something. Grabbing a napkin from the bar, and a pen from his pocket, he wrote: _Why can't we understand each other? Why can you understand everyone else except me?_ He then handed it to her and pointed at the mirror.

Angie held his bleary gaze for just a moment before turning the paper to the mirror and reading the words. Her breath caught and she raised a hand to cover her mouth before shaking her head and motioning for Ben to hand over his pen. Ben didn't even need to hold it up to the mirror to see what she'd written -- he'd had enough practice these last five years.

Angie had written: _You're alive, Ben… and I'm not. And the dead cannot speak with the living._

She poured them both another drink and they solemnly clinked their glasses together before mirroring other patrons to chug them down. She said nothing more after that.

She didn't have to.

* * *

**_Year 6_ **

Angie invited Ben to stay with her, of course, and Ben accepted. He had nowhere else to go. He was tired… so very tired. He slept on her couch during the day while she was at work, they ate dinner with the young couple who had moved in after her death, and they sat silent together at night until Angie fell asleep, curled in the protective circle of Ben's arms.

Sometimes, they traded notes, Angie telling Ben what she'd done during the day, whom she'd spoken with, and Ben staring stonily ahead when asked to reciprocate. He had nothing to say, nothing to share. He was finally starting to understand that he might not be going home and that even if he _did_ , at this point… Six years… Jesus Christ, _six years_. What would he even be going back to?

It was a dreary existence, laying around Angie's apartment all day, listening to the neighbors argue, but except for the few hours of each evening he had with Angie and the nights spent sleeping curled around her, it was all Ben found he had the energy for. Everything he had tried had failed. Every road home had turned out to be a dead end. Every flare of hope had guttered and died before he'd even had a chance to warm himself at it. But, he had Angie… and for a while, it was enough.

* * *

**_Year 7_ **

In the seventh year, Ben began to revive. He might never return home. He might never be with his family again. He might never be reinstated on the force. He might never get to help Larry solve the case of what had really happened that night at the Mayflower. He might never do any of those things… but he could do the next best.

From the first day of his seventh year, Ben began venturing out again. He wandered uptown to see the Mayflower in its reopened glory. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold. He approved of what they'd done with the renovations, what they'd chosen to restore and chosen to redesign entirely. It felt good to walk its halls again… it felt even better to see Danielle's name stamped in large copperplate letters across the Chief of Security office.

Ben walked the halls of the Mayflower every day that week, relearning its hallways and secrets. The basement had been cleared out and opened, all the walls knocked down, its secrets laid bare. There was no more room of mirrors -- just as Ben had suspected would be the case. He wouldn't be getting home that way.

Curiosity satisfied, Ben started visiting other places in the city, the outer boroughs -- Mikey's favorite playground, Daisy's first karate studio… the precinct. Ben had to admit, he got a certain amount of pleasure out of greeting the newly dead at the morgue and directing them to McCaffrey & Burke in Long Island City. Angie had become a guide, of sorts, for the dead -- newly so or otherwise -- and they often stopped to give him a drink in thanks for directing them to her. And he enjoyed watching Larry at work, was pleased to note his elevation to Captain. He would make a good Captain. He was meticulous and understand in ways that Ben had never been. He was someone the rookies could look up to, someone the old-timers would respect. It was a shame Ben would never get a chance to serve under him.

When he felt a little braver still, Ben finally went home, looked in on Amy and the kids. Daisy was in high school, now, and dating that boy Tom who'd supposedly liked her way back when. She was applying to colleges this year. Mikey was in high school, too, and not doing as well as Daisy was. He was quiet, withdrawn, and it was clear he was bullied at school. Amy worried, Ben could tell, and so did her new husband, but Mikey wouldn't talk to them.

Ben followed Mikey for a week once he'd seen the extent of the bullying, finally stumbled across him at his best friend's house in just as heated an embrace as Daisy ever shared with Tom. It was eye-opening, to say the least, but it explained the bullying. If only he could have been there… he would have _done_ something -- organized a rally, called the principal, held a fucking _parade_ … but he wasn't there. He might never be there again.

Staying with his family, watching them go about their lives, was painful, but Ben forced himself to do it. He forced himself to be there, to sit with Daisy when she cried after breaking up with Tom, to hover over Mikey when he sat up late, sketching panels of what looked like his favorite anime -- the ones he'd always had splashed all over his walls. And it was on one such night, when Ben was sitting and watching over Mikey, that a miracle happened, one Ben had thought he'd given up hope of ever having fulfilled.

Mikey sighed, put down his pencil and looked straight up into the mirror. He tilted his head to the side, smiled a soft smile and mouthed, "I've missed you, Dad. We all have."

"…it's good to see you."

Ben shot up off the bed like a man possessed, heart racing, breath coming in huge gasps. What? How? How was that possible? 

In the mirror, Ben saw Mikey lift a hand to his heart. "You never knew, Dad… that last night, the night we lost you… it possessed me. It was just for a little while, but it was long enough. I… I see things now -- really, I always did -- but now… it's _more_ , somehow. Kevin sees things, too -- it's how we met." A soft blush. "I know you followed me. I know you saw us. I… hope I haven't disappointed you."

All Ben could do was vigorously shake his head. "You're not a disappointment. I love you. You… Mikey, you could never be a disappointment."

A short laugh. "Dad… it's Michael. It hasn't been Mikey for years." Michael sighed. "Dad… I'm glad you're here. Really, I am. It's been wonderful to have you back... but you should go see Uncle Larry. He… he misses you, too. As much as we do… sometimes more, I think."

Ben took a step closer, lifted a hand as though to settle it on Michael's shoulder, shuddered when it passed right through. "What do you mean? You're my family. How could he miss me more than you do?"

Michael hung his head, looked away from the mirror for a moment before looking back, saying quietly but fiercely, "He loved you, Dad. I didn't understand when I was younger -- how could I have? -- but I do now. I know what it looks like, what it feels like, when a man loves his best friend and is too scared to say anything." He took a deep breath, "He loved you, Dad… He loved you for years... he still does... and I'm afraid it's killing him. He needs you even more than we do… if you care about him even half as much as he does you."

That was all Michael would say, as Amy walked in then. It wouldn't do for Michael to get caught conversing with his long-undead father in the mirror… but Michael's eyes followed him until he finally left, all but begging him to make something right that he'd never before realized was wrong.

* * *

It was late when Ben reached Larry's apartment… late by several months. Ben had spent more time with Michael, gotten to know him and Kevin. It felt good to be part of his son's life again, felt good to be spoken to and understood -- even if it had to happen by reflection in a mirror. And Michael was good about it, never brought up Larry again after that first night, but the thought began to worry Ben, gnawed at him like a cancer. His best friend, his friend of over 20 years -- if these last seven counted -- had been in love with him and he'd never known? How was that possible?

Ben kept it until the last night of his seventh year -- the night before the anniversary of his own undeath -- before finally following Michael's advice. And what he found when he reached Larry's apartment not only proved Michael right… It broke Ben's heart.

Larry had always been a wonderful cook, had taken such pride in Ben's enjoyment whenever he'd brought in lunch to share. Now...? There was evidence of take-out food on every surface in the kitchen and overflowing out of the garbage, no sign of a cooking utensil in sight. Larry had always been neat as a pin in the past, but now there was clothing strewn everywhere, and a quick glance into the bedroom showed the bed hadn't been made. The signs of grief were all too clear -- Larry never would have tolerated living like this if he felt well enough to do anything about it. It was as though he no longer cared. It was like watching a reflection of Ben's last year -- the year he had spent lying on Angie's couch, unable to move or care about anything.

Larry, himself, was slumped on the couch, a photo album open on his lap, a bottle of beer in one hand as the other idly flipped the pages. Pictures of them… of Ben. There were pictures from when they were teenagers in high school, pictures from the Academy, pictures from their days on the force. There were posed pictures and candids… and the care of the photographer was written deep into the frame of each one. Every confirmation Ben would ever have needed was right there in those photographs, but Larry was to provide him with even more, unasked.

Tipping the last of the beer back down his throat, Larry threw the bottle to the side where it clinked against several of its mates on the floor, already empty. Larry flipped one last page in the album, and his breath caught on a sob. There was only one picture on that page. Ben recognized the setting immediately. It was the cabin -- his parent's cabin, in the Poconos -- and Ben was standing in profile on the porch, shirt unbuttoned, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the setting sun. It was a beautiful photograph. Larry reached out a hand to touch it, to stroke one finger down the page. It was with some surprise that Ben noticed that Larry was crying. His tears had begun silently and were now dripping down his cheeks, completely unheeded except for how they roughened his voice.

"Ah, Ben… you stupid son of a bitch. I still miss you, you know. I miss you _so_ God-damned much." Larry's voice caught for a minute as he stifled a sob before evening back out. "Why didn't I tell you how I felt when I had the chance? I could have… I should have. But, Amy… I knew you still loved her. And there were the kids to think about. How could I compete with that? I couldn't have. I shouldn't have. But, still… why didn't I tell you?"

As the clock struck midnight, Larry broke down into quiet sobs and Ben could barely make out his final words. "Seven years… seven years, now, and _I'm_ the one who's been stuck with your bad luck."

"I'm sorry… Jesus Christ, Larry, I'm so sorry… I didn't know…" Ben reached out a hand, though he had no idea what it was he really intended, and let it hover over Larry's head. It was impossible to say who was more surprised when Larry's head lifted upwards… and both he and Ben felt the impact.

Larry let out a wild yell and jerked backwards on the couch, let out another yell when he caught sight of Ben. For his part, Ben could only stare in shocked disbelief at the obvious evidence that he'd not only been seen but felt. He jerked around, caught sight of their reflections in the mirror and realized… the reflection of the words on Larry's shirt _was backwards_. Ben turned back to look at Larry and sure enough… the words were the right way. Larry was keeping up a panicked babble behind him, and Ben fought to understand him through the hope nearly choking the air from his lungs.

Turning back towards the mirror, Ben nearly fell back onto the couch, himself at what he saw -- and the strangled gasp behind him told him clearly that Larry was seeing the same thing. Staring back at them from the mirror were Angie and Anna Esseker. Angie smiled and blew him a kiss. Anna smiled, too, though her smile was more melancholy than joyful. He couldn't hear her words when she spoke, but just like with Anna, her meaning was clear: seven years bad luck… the debt has been paid.

Ben raised his hands to each of theirs, silently said his goodbyes, then turned back towards Larry -- his partner, his best friend… and perhaps something more, if he was brave enough. Smiling softly as he reached over and took Larry's hand in his, he said, "Larry… you are not going to believe where I've been, but if you'll let me stay awhile, I'll try to convince you, anyway."

"B-b-but… how? And w-w-why? And, _what the hell is going on?_ " Larry was white as a sheet, sweating from the alcohol and looking very much like he'd like to be sick, but he held on to Ben's hand as tightly as Ben was holding his.

Ben smiled again and pulled Larry off the couch and into a tight embrace. "How? I don't know. What's going on? I haven't a clue. But as for why…? Because I've finally worked through my grief… and I think you might be my reward."

Larry laughed, finally, clutched Ben to him and buried his face in Ben's neck. Fiercely, he whispered back, "Then everything else can fucking well wait, because I've had my fill of grief… and as far as rewards go, you've always been mine."

**Author's Note:**

>  ** _A/N:_** I really, really wanted to get this to a porny place for you, but it just wouldn't go there in the time I had. So, hopefully tearful and sappy will suffice as a replacement? ;) Happy Yuletide!
> 
> (Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. Sorry!)


End file.
